
Class. 
Book. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



/ 



THE ILLUSTRATED 



Webster Memorial 



THE ILLUSTRATED 



Webster Memorial 



rrriicn;, .,j.- 'N^ 



j( n.u 9 1882 11 / 



FeyeburG", Me. : 

A. F. & C. W. Lewis. 

1882. 



(>•/;, 



THE ILLUSTRATED FEYEBUEG 

Webster Memorial 



contains, besides Webster's newly discovered Oration, sonr.e of his poems 
and Fryeburg letters; also poems by Longfellow, Whittier, Gov. Lincoln, 
Prof. Upham, H. Bernard Carpenter, and others (including several specially 
written for the Memorial), and prose sketches by Webster. Howells, and 
others, descriptive of Fryeburg's history and scenery. 

In either the plain or illustrated edition, the Oration constitutes a bro- 
chure of rare interest and beauty. 

Published by A. F. & C W. Lewis, Fryeburg, Me., to whom all orders 
should be addressed. 

Price oi Illustrated Edition, ... 50 cents. 

Plain Edition, 25 " 

Sent post-paid on receipt of price. 



ENTEREP ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS, IN THK YEAR 1882, BY 
IN THE OFFICE OF THE LIBRARIAN OF CONGRESS AT WASHINGTON. 



The Original Manuscript of the Oration is now in charge of A. F. Lewis 
of Fryeburg. 

Any one having^valuable facts or documents relating to Fryeburg is in- 
vited to send them to the Town Historian, Hon. Geo. B. Barrows. 






PREFACE. 



We herewith present to the public a newly discovered 
Fourth of July oration b}- Daniel Webster ; and we esteem it 
a happy coincidence, that we are able to give this oration to the 
world at a time when the commemoration, throughout the coun- 
try, of this the centennial year of Webster's birth has caused 
such a renewal of interest in all that pertains to the renowned 
orator and statesman. In his Autobiography Webster speaks 
of his Fryeburg oration as unpublished, and, as it had slept in 
oblivion for eighty years, no one supposed until lately that it 
had survived the wi-eck of time. A detailed account of the ac- 
cidental discovery of the original manuscript of the oration, in 
the handwriting of its illustrious author, would savor much of 
the mystery and fascination of romance, but such a narrative 
would require more space than the limits of a preface would 
allow. Suffice it to say, that a large mass of Webster's private 
papers, including the manuscript in question, found its way into 
an old junk-shop at 252 Federal Stieet, Boston, and was there 
rescued from destruction by the proprietor, John Shea, whose 
keen eye fortunately happened to catch the name of Webster 
on one of the papers. From Mr. Shea the manuscri[)t passed 
into the hands of a well-known Boston lawyer, and from the 
latter came into the possession of its present owner. 

It will be remembered, that, at the time of the delivery of this 
oration, Webster was teaching school at Fryeburg, being prin- 
cipal of the old and famous academy at that place. He was 
then but twenty years of age, and yet, so profound was the im- 
pression which this oration produced upon the minds of the 
hearers, that the sentiments enunciated were remembered and 
repeated after the lapse of more than fifty years.* The late 



See letter of Dr. Thomas V. Hill in Webster's Private Correspondence. 



Rev. Dr. Samuel Osgood of Springfield, Mass., with whose 
father Webster boarded while at Fryeburg, and who heard the 
oration, said that "it had great merit and was a finished pro- 
duction;" and we doubt not that the reader will coincide with 
the opinion thus expressed, and that he will hnd in thia early 
eifort the promise of those gigantic intellectual powers which 
shed such a lustre of renown upon Webster's subsequent career. 
Indeed, so remarkable a production was the oration regarded 
at the time by those who heard it, that one enthusiastic farmer 
ventured the bold remark that Daniel might some day even 
attain the lofty position of Governor of New Hampshire! 

Exalted as were the estimates placed upon this effort by 
Webster's contemporaries, yet the reality far surpasses any- 
thing which these estimates would lead us to expect. It is 
almost incredible that such a production could have emanated 
from a young man of only twenty years, and it may safely be 
asserted, that, for beauty of style, profound thought, logical 
reasoning, and statesmanlike wisdom, the early history of 
the world's greatest orators may be challenged to produce any- 
thing which will bear comparison with this Fryeburg effort. 
Being a production of the transcendent merit it is, this oration 
will constitute a substantial addition to the legacy which the 
colossal intellect of Webster bequeathed to posterity, and his 
countrymen will gladly give it a place by the side of the efforts 
of his later years, to be read and studied as long as the American 
heart shall feel the inspiration of that love of the Constitution 
and the Union which he did so much to inculcate. In this ora- 
tion the speaker will be seen to have thus early shown himself 
a proficient in the treatment of subjects connected with the 
science of government, and to have already commenced that 
profound study of the Constitution of his country which after- 
wards gave him the proud title of its Great Expounder i d 
Defender. 

It is a remarkable fact that the last speech made by Webster 
in the Senate of the United States, July 17, 1850, concluded 
with the same peroration with which he closed this Fryeburg 
oration forty-eight years before. 




inEarlyManh30d. 



ORATIOi^-. 



Fellow-Citizens, — It is at the season when nature hath 
assumed her loveliest apparel that the American people as- 
semble in their several temples to celebrate the birthday of 
their nation. Arrayed in all the beauties of the year, the 
Fourth of July once more visits us. Green fields and a ripen- 
ing harvest proclaim it, a bright sun cheers it, and the hearts 
of freemen bid it welcome. Illustrious spectacle ! Six mil- 
lions of people this day surround their altars, and unite in an 
address to Heaven for the preservation of their rights. Every 
rank and every age imbibes the general spirit. From the 
lisping inhabitant of the cradle to the aged warrior whose gray 
hairs are fast sinking in the western horizon of life, every 
voice is, this day, tuned to the accents of Liberty ! Washing- 
ton ! My Country ! 

Festivals established by the world have b9en numerous. 
The coronation of a king, the birth of a prince, the marriage 
of a princess, have often called wondering crowds together. 
Cities and nations agree to celebrate the event which raises one 
mortal man above their heads, and beings called men stand as- 
tonished and aghast while the pageantry of a monarch or 
the jewelled grandeur of a queen poses before them. Such a 
festival, however, as the Fourth of July is to America, is not 
found in history ; a festival designed for solemn reflection on 



the great events that have happened to us ; a festival in which 
freedom receives a nation's homage, and Heaven is greeted 
with incense from ten thousand hearts. 

In the present situation of our country, it is, my respected 
fellow-citizens, matter of high joy and congratulation that 
there is one day in the year on which men of diflerent princi- 
ples and different opinions can associate together. The Fourth 
of July is not an occasion to compass sea and laud to make 
proselytes. The good sense and the good nature which yet 
remain among us will, we trust, prevail on this day, and be 
sufficient to chain, at least for a season, that untamed monster, 
Party Spirit — and would to God that it might be chained for- 
ever, that, as we have but one interest, we might have but 
one heart and one mind ! 

You have hitherto, fellow-citizens, on occasions of this kind, 
been entertained with the discussion of national questions ; with 
inquiries into the true principles of government; with recapitu- 
lations of the War; with speculations on the causes of our 
Revolution, and on its consequences to ourselves and to the 
world. Leaving these subjects, it shall be the ambition of the 
speaker of this day to present such a view of your Constitu- 
tion and your Union as shall convince you that you have noth- 
ing to hope from a change. 

This age has been correctly denominated an age of experi- 
ments. Innovation is the idol of the tiines. The human mind 
seems to have burst its ancient limits, and to be travelling over 
the face of the material and intellectual creation in search of 
improvement. The world hath become like a tickle lover, in 
whom every new face inspires a new passion. In this rage for 
novelty many things are made better, and many things are made 
worse. Old errors are discarded, and new errors are embraced. 
Governments feel the same effects from this spirit as every- 



thing else. Some, like our own, grow into beauty and ex- 
cellence, while others s'ink still deeper into deformity and 
wretchedness. The experience of all ages will bear us out in 
saying, that alterations of political systems are always attended 
with a greater or less degree of danger. They ought, therefore, 
never to be undertaken, unless the evil complained of be really 
felt and the prospect of a remedy clearly seen. The politician 
that undertakes to improve a Constitution with as little thought 
as a farmer sets about mending his plow, is no master of his 
trade. If that Constitution be a systematic one, if it be a free 
one, its parts are so necessarily connected that an alteration in 
one will work an alteration in all; and this cobbler, however 
pure and honest his intentions, will, in the end, find that what 
came to his hands a fair and lovely fabric goes from them a 
miserable piece of patchwork. 

Nor are great and striking alterations alone to be shunned. 
A succession of small changes, a perpetual tampering with 
minute parts, steal away the breath though they leave the body ; 
for it is true that a government may lose all its real character, 
its genius and its temper, without losing its appearance. You 
may have a despotism under the name of a republic. You 
may look on a government and see it possess all the external 
essential modes of freedom, and yet see nothing of the essence, 
the vitality, of freedom in it: just as you may behold Wash- 
ington or Franklin in wax-work ; the form is perfect, but the 
spirit, the life, is not there. 

The first thing to be said in favor of our system of govern- 
ment is that it is truly and genuinely free, and the man has a 
base and slavish heart that will call any government good that 
is not free. If there be, at this day, any advocate for arbitrary 
power, we wish him the happiness of living under a govern- 
ment of his choice. If he is in love with chains, we would not 



8 

deny him the gratification of his passion. Despotism is the 
point where everything bad centres, and from which everything 
good departs. As far as a government is distant from this 
point, so far it is good : in proportion as it approaches towards 
this, in the same proportion it is detestable. In all other 
forms there is something tolerable to be found; in despotism 
there is nothing. Other systems have some amiable features, 
some right principles, mingled with their errors; despotism is 
all error. It is a dark and cheerless void, over which the eye 
wanders in vain in search of anything lovely or attractive. 

The true definition of despotism is government without law. 
It may exist, therefore, in the hands of many as well as of one. 
Rebellions are despotisms; factions are despotisms; loose 
democracies are despotisms. These are a thousand times more 
dreadful than the concentration of all power in the hands of a 
single tyrant. The despotism of one man is like the thunder- 
bolt, which falls here and there, scorching and consuming the 
individual on whom it lights; but popular commotion, the des- 
potism of a mob, is an earthquake, which in one moment 
swallows up everything. It is the excellence of our govern- 
ment that it is placed in a proper medium between these two 
extremes, that it is equally distant from mobs and from thrones. 

In the next place our government is good because it is prac- 
tical. It is not the sick offspring of closet philosophy. It did 
not rise, vaporous and evanescent, from the brains of Rousseau 
and Godwin, like a mist from the ocean. It is the production 
of men of business, of experience, and of wisdom. It is suited 
to what man is, and what it is in the power of good laws to 
make him. Its object — the just object of all governments — is 
to secure and protect the weak against the strong, to unite the 
force of the whole community against the violence of oppres- 
sors. Its power is the power of the nation; its will is the will 



of the people. It is not an awkward, unshapely machine 
which the people cannot use when they have made it, nor is it 
so dark and complicated that it is the labor of one's life to in- 
vestigate and understand it. All are capable of comprehending 
its principles and its operations. It admits, too, of a change 
of men and of measures. At the will of a majority, we have 
seen the government of tfie nation pass from the hands of one 
description of men into those of another. Of the comparative 
merits of those different men, of their honesty, their talents, 
their patriotism, we have here nothing to say. That subject 
we leave to be decided before the impartial tribunal of pos- 
terity. The fact of a change of rulers, however, proves that the 
government is manageable, that it can in all cases be made to 
comply with the public will. It is, too, an equal government. 
It rejects principalities and powers. It demolishes all the arti- 
ficial distinctions which pride and ambition create. It is en- 
cumbered with no lazy load of hereditary aristocracy." It 
clothes no one with the attributes of God ; it sinks no one to a 
level with brutes : yet it admits those distinctions in society 
which are natural and necessary. The correct expression of 
our Bill of Rights is that men are born equal. It then rests 
with themselves to maintain their equality' by their worth. 
The illustrious framers of our system, in all the sternness of 
republicanism, rejected all nobility but the nobility of talents, 
all majority but the majority of virtue. 

Lastly, the government is one of our choice ; not dictated to 
us by an imperious Chief Consul, like the governments of Hol- 
land and Switzerland; not taught us by the philosophers, nor 
graciously brought to us on the bayonets of our magnanimous 
sister republic on the other side the ocean. It was framed by 
our fathers for themselves and for their children. Far the 
greater portion of mankind submit to usurped authority, and 



10 

pay humble obedience to self-created law-givers; not that obe- 
dience of the heart which a good citizen will yield to good 
laws, but the obedience which a harnessed horse pays his 
driver, an obedience begotten by correction and stripes. 

The American Constitution is the purchase of American 
valor. It is the rich prize that rew^ards the toil of eight years 
of war and of blood : and what is all the pomp of military 
glory, what are victories, what are armies subdued, fleets cap- 
tured, colors taken, unless they end in the establishment of 
wise laws and national happiness? Our Revolution is not more 
renowned for the brilliancy of its scenes than for the benefit of 
its consequences. The Constitution is the great memorial of 
the deeds of our ancestors. On the pillars and on the arches 
of that dome their names are written and their achievements 
recorded. While that lasts, while a single page or a single 
article can be found, it will carry down the record to future 
ages. It will teach mankind that glory, empty, tinkling glory, 
was not the object for which Americans fought. Great Britain 
had carried the fame of her arms far and wide. She had 
humbled France and Spain ; she had reached her arm across the 
Eastern Continent, and given laws on the banks of the Ganges. 
A few scattered colonists did not rise up to contend with such 
a nation for mere renown. They had a nobler object, and in 
pursuit of that object they manifested a courage, constancy, 
and union, that deserve to be celebrated by poets and historians 
while language lasts. 

The valor of America was not a transient, glimmering ray 
shot forth from the impulse of momentary resentment. Against 
unjust and arbitrary laws she rose with determined, unalterable 
spirit. Like the rising sun, clouds and mists hung around her, 
but her course, like his, brightened as she proceeded. Valor, 
however, displayed in combat, is a less remarkable trait in the 



11 

character of our countrymen than the wisdom manifested when 
the combat was over. All countries and all ages produce 
warriors, but rare are the instances in which men sit down 
coolly at the close of their labors to enjoy the fruits of them. 
Having destroyed one despotism, nations generally create 
another; having rejected the dominion of one tyrant, they 
make another for themselves. England beheaded her Charles, 
but crowned her Cromwell. France guillotined her Louises, 
but obeys her Bonapartes. Thanks to God, neither foreign 
nor domestic usurpation flourishes on our soil ! 

Having thus, fellow-citizens, surveyed the principal features 
of our excellent Constitution and paid an inadequate tribute to 
the wisdom Avhich produced it, let us consider seriously the 
means of its preservation. To perpetuate the government we 
must cherish the love of it. One chief pillar in the repub- 
lican fabric is the spirit of patriotism. But patriotism hath, in 
these days, become a good deal questionable. It hath been so 
often counterfeited that even the genuiue coin doth not pass 
without suspicion. If one proclaims himself a patriot, this un- 
charitable, misjudging world is pretty likely to set him down 
for a knave, and it is pretty likely to be right in this opinion. 
The rage for being patriots hath really so much of the ridicu- 
lous in it that it is difficult to treat it seriously. The preach- 
ing of politics hath become a trade, and there are many who 
leave all other trades to follow it. Benevolent, disinterested 
men ! With Scriptural devotion they forsake houses and lands, 
father and mother, wife and children, and wander up and down 
the community to teach mankind that their rulers oppress 
them ! About the time when it was fashionable in France to 
cut off men's heads, as we lop away superfluous sprouts from 
our apple-trees, the public attention was excited by a certain 
monkey, that had been taught to act the part of a patriot to 



12 

great perfection. If you pointed at him, says the historian, 
and called him an aristocrat or a monarchist, he would fly at 
you with great rage and violence; but, if you would do him the 
justice to call him a good patriot, he manifested every mark of 
joy and satisfaction. But, though the whole French nation 
gazed at this animal as a miracle, he was, after all, no very 
strange sight. There are, in all countries, a great many 
monkeys who wish to be thought patriots, and a great many 
others who believe them such. But, because we are often de- 
ceived by appearances, let us not believe that the reality does 
not exist. If our faith is ever shaken, if the crowd of hypo- 
critical demagogues lead us to doubt, we will remember Wash- 
ington and be convinced: we will cast our eves around us, on 
those who have toiled and fought and bled for their country, 
and we will be persuaded that there is such a thing as real 
patriotism, and that it is one of the purest and noblest senti- 
ments that can warm the heart of man. 

To preserve the government we must also preserve a correct 
and energetic tone of morals. After all that can be said, the 
truth is that liberty consists more in the habits of the people 
than in anything else. When the public mind becomes vitiated 
and depraved, every attempt to preserve it is vain. Laws are 
then a nullity, and Constitutions waste paper. There are 
always men wicked enough to go any length in the pursuit of 
power, if they can find others wicked enough to support them. 
They regard not paper and parchment. Can you stop the prog- 
ress of a usurper by opposing to him the laws of his country? 
then 3'ou may check the careering winds or stay the lightning 
with a song. Xo. Ambitious men must be restrained by the 
public morality : when they rise up to do evil, they must find 
themselves standing alone. Morality rests on religion. If 
you destroy the foundation, the superstructure must fall. In 



13 

a world of error, of temptation, of seduction ; in a world 
where crimes often triumph, and virtue is scourged with scor- 
pions, — in such a world, certainly, the hope of an hereafter is 
necessary to cheer and to animate. Leave us, then, the con- 
solations of religion. Leave to man, to frail and feeble man, 
the comfort of knowing, that, when he gratifies his immortal 
soul with deeds of justice, of kindness, and of mercy, he is 
rescuing his happiness from final dissolution and laying it up in 
Heaven. 

Our duty as citizens is not a solitary one. It is connected 
with all the duties that belong to us as men. The civil, the 
social, the Christian virtues are requisite to render us worthy 
the continuation of that orovernment which is the freest on 
earth. Yes, though the world should hear me, though 1 could 
fancy myself standing in the congregation of all nations, I 
would say: Americans, you are the most privileged people 
that the sun shines on. The salutary influences of your climate 
are inferior to the salutary influences of your laws. Your soil, 
rich to a proverb, is less rich than yonr Constitution. Your 
rivers, large as the oceans of the old world, are less copious 
than the streams of social happiness ^vhich flow around you. 
Your air is not purer than your civil liberty, and your hills, 
though high as heaven and deep as the foundations of the earth, 
are less exalted and less firmly founded than that benign and 
everlasting religion which blesses you and shall bless your ofi"- 
spring. Amidst these profuse blessings of nature and of 
Providence, beware ! Standing in this place, sacred to truth, 
I dare not undertake to assure you that your liberties and your 
happiness may not be lost. Men are subject to men's misfor- 
tunes. If an angel should be winged from Heaven, on an 
errand of mercy to our country, the first accents that would 
glow on his lips would be. Beware ! be cautious ! you have 



14 

everything to lose; j-ou have nothing to gain. We live under 
the only government that ever existed which was framed by 
the unrestrained and deliberate consultations of the people. 
Miracles do not cluster. That which has happened but once in 
six thousand j^ears cannot be expected to happen often. Such 
a government, once gone, might leave a void, to be filled, for 
ages, with revolution and tumult, riot and despotism. The 
history of the world is before us. It rises like an immense 
column, on which w^e may see inscribed the soundest maxims 
of political experience. These maxims should be treasured in 
our memories and written on our hearts. Man, in all countries, 
resembles man. Wherever you find him, you find human 
nature in him and human frailties about him. He is, therefore, 
a proper pupil for the school of experience. He should draw 
wisdom from the example of others, — encouragement from 
their success, caution from their misfortunes. Nations should 
diligently keep their eye on the- nations that have gone before 
them. They should mark and avoid their errors, not travel on 
heedlessly in the path of danger and of death while the bones 
of their perished predecessors whiten around them, (^ur own 
times afibrd us lessons that admojiish us both of our duty and 
our danger. We have seen mighty nations, miserable in their 
chains, more miserable when they attempted to shake them off. 
Tortured and distracted beneath the lash of servitude, we have 
seen them rise up in indignation to assert the rights of human 
nature; but, deceived by hypocrites, cajoled by demagogues, 
ruined by false patriots, overpowered by a resistless mixed 
multitude of knaves and fools, we have wept at the wretched 
end of all their labors. Tossed for ten years in the crazy 
dreams of revolutionary liberty, we have seen them at last 
awake, and, like the slave who slumbers on his oar and dreams 
of the happiness of his own blessed home, they awake to find 



15 

themselves still in bondage. Let it not be thought that we 
advert to other nations to triumph in their sufferings or mock at 
their calamities. Would to God the whole earth enjoyed pure 
and rational liberty, that every realm that the human eye sur- 
veys or the human foot treads, were free I Wherever men 
soberly and prudently engage in the pursuit of this object, our 
prayers in their behalf shall ascend unto the Heavens and unto 
the ear of Him who filleth them. Be they powerful or be 
they weak, in such a cause they deserve success. Yes, "The 
poorest being that crawls on earth, contending to save itself 
from injustice and oppression, is an object respectable in the 
eyes of God and man." Our purpose is only to draw lessons 
of prudence from the imprudence of others, to argue the neces- 
sity of virtue from the consequences of their vices. 

Unhappy Europe ! the judgment of God rests hard upon 
thee. Thy sufferings would deserve an angel's pity, if an 
angel's tears could wash away thy crimes ! The Eastern Corir 
tinent seems trembling on the brink of some great catastrophe. 
Convulsions shake and terrors alarm it. Ancient systems are 
falling ; works reared by ages are crumbling into atoms. Let 
us humbly implore Heaven that the wide-spreading desolation 
may never reach the shores of our native land, but let us de- 
voutly make up our minds to do our duty in events that may 
happen to us. Let us cherish'' genuine patriotism. In that, 
there is a sort of inspiration that gives strength and energy 
almost more than human. When the mind is attached to a 
great object, it grows to the magnitude of its undertaking. A 
true patriot, with his eye and his heart on the honor and happi- 
ness of his country, hath an elevation of soul that lifts him 
above the rank of ordinary men. To common occurrences he 
is indifferent. Personal considerations dwindle into nothing, in 
comparison with his high sense of public duty. In all the 



16 

vicissitudes of fortune, he leans with pleasure on the protection 
of Providence and on the dignity and composure of his own 
mind. While his country enjoys peace, he rejoices and is 
thankful ; and, if it be in the counsel of Heaven to send the 
storm and the tempest, his bosom proudly swells against the 
rage that assaults it. Above fear, above danger, he feels that 
the last end which can happen to any man never comes too soon, 
ij he falls in defence of the laws and liberties of his country. 




17 



WEBSTER'S FRYEBURG LETTERS. 

Several of the letters written by Webster while at Fryeburg have been 
preserved, and we have the pleasure of laying the more interesting of them 
before our readers ; also two letters which he afterwards wrote to friends at 
Fryeburg. For vivacity oi style and sparkling humor these letters are 
notable specimens of epistolary' correspondence. They are all highly charac- 
teristic of their author, and, in connection with the foregoing oration, present 
a picture both of his studied and unstudied style of literary composition. 

The following letter was to his life-long friend, Col. Samuel A. Bradley : — 

Fryeburg, March 3, 1802. 

My Friend, — This is one of those happy mornings when " Spring 
looks from the lucid chambers of the south." Though we have snow 
in abundance, yet the air is charmingly serene, and Pequawket puts on 
more pleasantness than I have before seen it clad in. If I had an 
engagement of love, I should certainly arrange my thoughts of this 
morning for a romantic epistle. How fine it would be to point out a 
resemblance between the clear lustre of the sun and a pair of bright 
•eyes ! The snow, too, instead of embarrassing, would much assist me. 
What fitter emblem of virgin purity ? A pair of pigeons that enjoy 
the morning on the ridge of the barn might be easily transformed into 
turtle-doves breathing reciprocal vows. How shall I resist this temp- 
tation to be a little romantic and poetical.? " Loves" and " doves" 
this moment chime in my fancy, in spite of me. " Sparkling eyes" 
and "mournful sighs," "constancy of soul/' "like needle to the 
pole," and a whole retinue of poeric and languishing expressions are 
now ready to pour from my pen. What a pity that all this inspiration 
should be lost for want of an object! But so it is. Nobody will hear 
my pretty ditties, unless, forsooth I should turn gravely about and 
declaim them to the maid who is setting the table for breakfast ; but 
what an indelicate idea ! a mait:^ to be the subject of a ballad ? 
'twere blasphemy. Apollo would never forgive me. Well, then, I 
will turn about, and drink down all my poetry with my coffee. " Yes, 
ma'am, I will come to breakfast." 

I wish, my good friend, I could think of some good thing to tell 
you, but PigwaCket does not abound in extraordinary occurrences. 
The topic of this day's conversation is an intended ride this after- 
noon to Conway. I think the misses enjoy it finely in prospect, and 
no doubt the retrospect will be equally pleasant. To me, however, 
{uf ad me revertor) such things are most charming while future, and it 
is my object, therefore, to keep them future as much as possible. 

Mr. Fessenden's mother is dead. She departed to the bourn 
whence " no traveller returns," about a week ago. With bright pros- 
pectsof future felicity, she attended the summons without a murmur. 



18 

and, full of years, sunk to repose on the bosom of her Maker. Mr. 
Fessenden's family have been extremely ill, and his lady continues so 
yet. He has not yet returned from his attendance of the Legislature. 
Our friends Dana and McGaw are gone to Haverhill court, and 
I have quite a lonely week. 'Twould be a pleasure to call at Harry's 
house and take a cup of coffee with my friend Samuel, but he is not 
there ; yet this shall tell him that he is remembered with much ten- 
derness and esteem by his 

S. B., Esq. Daniel Webster. 



WEBSTEE TO HABIJAH W. FULLER. 



Fryeburg, February 26, 1802. 

Once more to prattle on her darling theme, 
Once more to wake the soft, mellifluous stream 
That brings us all our blessings as it flows, 
Whose currents friendship's golden ore disclose. 

The JNIuse essays her little skill; 

And, though her lightsome lay 

No master's hand display. 
Though loose her lyre and wild her song. 
Though seraph fire tip not her tongue. 
The friend — oh, such a friend ! — will hear her still. 
O Memory ! thou Protean friend or foe, 
Parent of half our joy and half our woe, 
Thou dost the rapture which I feel, impart, 
And thou the griefs that press around my heart. 

Thine is a motley train : 

Despondence there is seen, 

And Sorrow, pale-faced queen ; 
And Gladness there, with merry face 
That ne'er did wear a sad grimace. 
And buxom Pleasure sporting o'er the plain. 
Next moment lo ! appears 
Some plenteous cause of tears. 
Some pleasure fled, (for pleasure flies). 
Or Symonds sped beyond ihe skies. 
And memory cancels all the good she grants — 

but, if I poetize^ further upon Memory, I shall not have room to tell 
you half what I wish ; so, sweet Miss Muse, we will dismiss you. 

Friend Shattuck may have told you that I am here. 'Tis true, 
Habijah, contrary to all my expectations I am here. I cannot now 
address you as a brother student-in-law ; I am neither more nor less 
than a school-master, and, as such, you will not, perhaps, feel yourself 
much flattered to hear from me. You will naturally enough inquire 
what circumstances have induced me to relinquish the law, I will 
answer all your questions when I see you next. Till then be satisfied 



19 

with this, that I thought it best. Six weeks I have been on this ground ; 
in about five or six months, it is not improbable, I shall leave it. 
Which way my next motion shall be, it is not to be told or known. 

I have been writing some poetry. I shall not inform you wliat I 
have written, but, from the accompanying inimitable apostrophe to 
Memory^ you will judge of the quality of all I have written. 

You will possibly wish to ask how many misses there are here. 
I do not precisely know. I forgot to bring a stick to cut a notch, 
like the Indian, for every one I see ; but I have heard no complaint 
of scarcity. There is one who is amiable, and who has this moment 
passed by this table. 'Tis her opinion, it seems, that "Mr. Webster 
is a very bashful man.'' He will never give her reason to think other- 
wise ! But these things are all vanity. I was last at Concord in Sep- 
tember or October, I can tell nothing about your friends there. Our 
visit in June is blown over, but you must go without me ; you will 
have a better visit. 

If it will not be burdensome, pray write me a word, I mean a 
good many words, by Esquire Dana. I want to hear a good deal 
about old Han. Pray be particular and long in your account of that 
place. Whatever you can make acceptable to your family, whether 
love, respect, or compliments, pray give them from me. Brother 
Shattuck is entitled to a high place in my memory, and tell him he 
possesses it. I cannot tell when I may see you, but, if I live and have 
health, I shall expect to dart an eye upon the I. C. School as soon 
as next Commencement, surely and without fail. 

D. Webster. 

How are your parents, your sisters, your friends? In short, how is 
everything ; and, above all, are you the newsboys' message-maker ? 
Who is Bum ? Do answer all these things, and oblige 

The School-master. 

Mr. Dana is the only neighbor I can call on with great pleasure and 
little ceremony. He is quite good and civil. I have exalted ideas of 
his lady; I can say, with Shakesphere, that she is one who ''par- 
agons description and wild fame." 



WEBSTER TO THOMAS A. MERRILL. 



Fryeburg, June 7, 1802. 
My dear Friend, — I have frequently taken up my pen to write to 
you since I arrived here, and have as oiten laid it down again without 
executing my purpose. The truth is, I was willing to write you some- 
thing a little better than my correspondents generally have the fortune 
to receive. But, after all, I am commencing in my old wa}'^, re- 
solved not to delay till chance might inspire me with an idea 
worth your reading, lest you should suppose me backward in enter- 
ing into a correspondence which I contemplate with pleasure. You 
must, therefore, console vourself with reflecting that correspondence 



20 

is a kind of commerce, where the greatest gain per cent, uniformly 
attaches to the greatest capital, and that there is as much to be 
learned in writing a good letter as in reading on-:. Besides, you 
will remember that I am in Pequawket. a most savage name and, you 
will therefore suppose, a most savage country. Whenever, therefore, 
I am dull and blundering, you must not charge the fault upon me, but 
upon Pequawket ; thus i shall shift much responsibility from my own 
shoulders. I will, if you please, devote this to giving you some little 
account of my situation, business, amusements, and so forth ; and beg 
of you a description of yours. Whatever relates to my school you 
can guess in the general, and particulars cannot be interesting. I'his 
village is new, but growing, already much crowded with merchants, 
doctors, and lawyers There are here a good number of men of in- 
formation and conversable manners whom I visit without ceremony, 
and chat with as I should with you and Bingham. Among these are 
Mr. Dana, whom you know, and Mr. McGaw,^who boards and lodges 
with me. 

Fame has told me — though she is said to be a notorious liar — that 
you are a finished gallant; it will be natural, therefore, for you to in- 
quire about the number and beauty of our misses. In point of i leaut}', 
I do not feel competent to decide. I cannot calculate the precise 
value of a dimple, or estimate the charms of an eyebrow, yet I see 
nothing repulsive in the appearance of Maine misses. When Mr. 
McGaw told me he would introduce me to the Pequawket constella- 
tion, it sounded so odd that I could not tell whether he was 
going to show me Virgo, or Ursa Major; yet I had charity to put it 
down for the former, and have found no reason to alter my decision. 
Being a pedagogue and having many of the ladies in school, I cannot 
set out in a bold progress of gallantry, though I now and then make 
one of them my best bows and say a few things piano, as the musicians 
have it. 

When I go into the study of a friend, I look about and inquire for 
the books he is reading ; to save you that trouble, I will tell you my 
reading at present. I think it may be advantageous to communi- 
cate mutually an account of our studies, and reciprocate any new 
ideas that are worth if. I am now upon Williams' Vermont, 
which I never read before. 'Tis my object to investigate some 
facts relating to the political history of the United States. I 
have been perusing, as an amusement, the "Pursuits of Literature," 
the book which has e.xcited so much curiosity among the learned, 
and called down so much condemnation of democracy. I am not 
certain you ever read it, because I do not recollect having seen it at 
Hanover. I think it well worth a reading. The scantiness of the 
poem itself and the abundance of notes bring to my memory Sheri- 
dan's elegent metaphor of "a neat rivulet of text meandering through 
a meadow of margin." 

Report has just reached me that the marshal of N. H. is removed. 
I confess I did not much expect it, but these are Jefferson's doings, 
and they are '' marvellous in our eyes." 

Adieu, my good friend. D. Webster. 




Tn,E Oxford House, websters fhyebueg home. 



21 

P. S. I congratulate the people of Hanover on the election of 
their anniversary orator, and wish him better success than some of 
his predecessors. 

Wednesday Morning, June 9. Since I wrote the within, which I 
had intended for the mail, Messrs. Hall and Wliitmore have called on 
me. I am quite sure you did not know of the opportunity of sending 
me by them. They tell me that politics stand 120 to 14. Good! 
good ! the sun is everywhere rising. The waning orb of Democracy 
must soon be eclipsed. The penumbra begins to come on already. 
Pray put a line in the next mail for one who is much your friend. 

D. W. 



EXTRACT FROM WEBSTER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



Being graduated in August, 1801, I immediately entered Mr. 
Thompson's office in Salisbury, next door to my father's house, to 
study the law. There I remained till January following, viz., Janu- 
ary, 1802. The necessity of the case required that I should then go 
somewhere and gain a little money. I was written to, luckily, to go 
to Fryeburg, Maine, to keep school. I accepted the offer, traversed 
the country on horseback, and commenced my labors. I was to be 
paid at the rate of three hundred and fifty dollars per annum. This 
was no small thing, for I compared it, not with what might be before 
me, but what was actually behind me. It was better, certain'y, than 
following the plough. But let me say something in favor of my own 
industry — not to make a merit of it, for necessity sometimes makes the 
most idle industrious. It so happened that I boarded, at Fryeburg, 
with the gentleman, James Osgood, Esq., who was Register of Deeds 
of the then newly created County of Oxford. He was not clericat 
in and of himself, and his registration was to be done by deputy. 
The fee for recording, at full length, a common deed, in a large, 
fair hand, and with the care requisite to avoid errors, was two 
shillings and threepence. Mr. Osgood proposed to nie that I should 
do this writing, and that, of the two shillings and threepence for each 
.deed, I should have one shilling and sixpence, and he should have 
the remaining ninepence. I greedily seized on so tempting an offer, 
and set to work. Of a long winter's evening I could copy two deeds, 
and that was half a dollar. Four evenings in a week earned two dol- 
lars, and two dollars a week paid my board. This appeared to me 
to be a very thriving condition, for my three hundred and fifty dollars, 
salary as a school-master was thus going on without abatement or de- 
duction for vivers. I hope yet to have an opportunity to see, once 
more, the first volume of the Record of Deeds for the County of 
Oxford. It is now near thirty years since I copied into it the last 
"witness my hand and seal," and I have not seen even its outside 



22 

since ; but the ache is not yet out of my lingers, for nothing has 
ever been so laborious lu nie as writing, when under the necessity of 
writing a good hand. 

In May of this year (1802), having a week's vacation, I took my 
quarter's salary, mounted a horse, went straight over all the hills to 
Hanover, and had the pleasure of putting these the first earnings of 
my life into my brother's hands for his college expenses. Having 
enjoyed this sincere and high pleasure, I hied me back again to my 
school and my copying of deeds. I stayed in Fryeburg only till Sep- 
tember. My brother then came to see me : we made a journey to- 
gether to the lower part of Maine, and returned to Salisbury. I 
resumed ir;y place in Mr. Thompson's office, and he went back to 
college. 



Ttie following letter was written to Amos J. Cook, an intimate college 
friend of Webster's. Mr. Cook was Webster's successor as principal of 
Fryeburg Academy, and remained in that position more than thirty years : — 

Salisbury, N. H., January 14, 1803. 

Well, brother Cook, is it not time that you and I should inter- 
change a word by letter? Indeed, I thought it quite time some while 
ago, and bore on my mjnd a fresh impression of the prof:iise you 
made me to write, but as yet no letters have arrived ; but perhaps it 
is owing to miscarriage of mail. Lackaday ! since these Jacobin 
postmasters have crept into office one cannot for the soul of him get a 
letter — that was never written. But I will pardon you ; your entire 
devotion to business would render you pardonable, if you should 
neglect to write even to your -sweetheart. 

Don't you suppose now that I must be a little envious of the lustre 
of your pedagogical fame 1 A priest's word may surely be relied on — 
but your philosophy would hate to hear a compliment. It has been 
twice in the way of business for me tp be at Hanover since I saw 
you. Everybody I saw, and some of the ladies particularly, inquired 
about Mr. Cook — but here again I shall wound your philosophy. 

Our college friends were in fine mood, triumphant over their ene- 
mies. Bingham, that good soul, whose spirit is as harmonious as his 
music, galloped on to the old plain with me, and he spent a day among 
the folks. One of your female acquaintances is gone, fairly gone I 
understand, into the land of love and courtship. I do not now tell 
you who it is, nor who is become proprietor of the premises, for cer- 
tain reasons. 

The Authority were, in November, very much, probably, as 
you left them in August. I could not see any diminution in the 
length of noses or in the volubility of lip-licking tongues. Pro- 
fessor Woodward has been entirely out of health, as Zeke tells 
me, all the fall, and Doctor Smith has sold his house, with an in- 
tention of fixing his home in Windsor. I am nol informed what pro- 
fession you determine to study, but, if it be law, permit me to tell 



23 

you a little what you must expect. My experience in the study is, in- 
deed, short, but I have learned a little about it. First, then, you must 
bid adieu to all hopes of meeting with a single author who pretends 
to elegance of style or sweetness of observation. The language of 
the law is dry, hard, and stubborn, as an old maid. Wounded Latin 
bleeds through every page, and, if Tully and Virgil could rise from 
their graves, they would soon be at fisticuffs with Coke. Hale, and 
Blackstone for massacring their language. As to the practice, I be- 
lieve it is a settled matter that the business of an office is conducted 
with the very refuse and remnant of mankind. However, I will not 
too far abuse mv own profession. It is sometimes lucrative, and, if 
one can keep up an acquaintance with general literature in the mean- 
time, the law may help to invigorate and unfold the powers of the 
mind. 

By this time you are quite tired of this conversation. Well, my 
friend, then go away and relieve your worry by chatting with the fair 
ones, after which, if you please, sacrifice a moment to the unrewarded 
trouble of writing a letter to your humble servant, 

A. T. Cook. D. Webster. 



The Semi-Centennial Anniversary of the Academy, which was commemo- 
rated with appropriate exercises in 1842, called forth the following letter from 
Mr. Webster, who ever took a deep interest in the institution, it being the 
■scene of his first labors after leaving college : — 

Washington, Aug. 25, 1842. 
To Carlton Hurd, Amos Richardson, Asa Charles: — 

Gentlemen, — I have the ho.ior to acknowledge the receipt of your 
letter of the 4th of thfs month. When twenty years old, I found 
myself, at the suggestion of a valued friend, now of long standing, 
in your pleasant village, engaged in an attempt at instructing youth. 
I was there, I think, about nine months, and, however successful or 
unsuccessful 1 may have been in teaching others, it was not lost time 
in regard to my own progress. I found in Fryeburg, even at that 
■early day, most of the elements of a happy New England village 
which Dr. Belknap has described ; a learned, amiable, and excellent . 
minister of the Gospel, a pattern of devout feeling, and affectionate 
intercourse with his people, seeking always to strengthen the persua- 
sions of the pulpit by the influence of his own example, and thus 

*' Allure to brighter worlds and lead the way;" 

■educated and respectable gentlemen of the other professions, one of 
them near enough to my own age for daily companionship, never to be 
forgotten, and engaged in that pursuit of life to which I have since 
been devoted ; a small but well selected library, with which I culti- 
vated a useful acquaintance ; and a general circle of friendly and 
agreeable acquaintances. To the recollection of such things and 



24 

such scenes it is impossible to revert without feelings both of gratt 
tude and pleasure. Long may your institution flourish in usefulness^ 
and long may health and peace, prosperity and happiness, be the lot 
of the village ! 

To all who may remember me I pray you to give my cordial salu- 
tations, and, if there be among you any of those who sought to learn 
Latin or Greek, or to read or cipher, under my veteran tuition, please 
say to them that I trust their children have had better instruction than 
their fathers. 

I am, gentlemen, with regard, 

Yours, &c., Daniel Webster. 



WASHINGTON. 



A POEM BY WEBSTER, WRITTEN WHILE IN COLLEGE. 

Ah ! Washington, thou once didst guide the helm 

And point each danger to our infant realm, 

Didst shew the gulf where faction's tempests sweep ' 

And the big thunders frolic o'er the deep 

Through the red wave didst lead our bark, nor stood. 

Like ancient Moses, the other side the flood. 

But thou art gone, — yes, gone, and we deplore 

The man, the Washington, we knew before. 

But, when thy spirit mounted to the sky, 

And scarce beneath thee left a tearless eye, 

Tell Afhat Elisha then thy mantle caught, 

Warmed with thy virtue, with thy wisdom fraught. 

Say, was it Adams ? was it he, who bare 

His country's toils, nor knew a separate care. 

Whose bosom heaved indignant as he saw 

Columbia groan beneath oppression's law. 

Who stood and spurned corruption at his feet, 

Firm as "the rock on which the storm shall beat?" 

Or was it he whose votaries now disclaim 

Thy godlike deeds, and sully all thy fame ? 

Spirit of Washington ! oh! grant reply, 

And let thy r.ountry know thee from the sky! 

Break through the clouds, and be thine accents heard, 

Accents that oft midst war's rude onset cheered. 

Thy voice shall hush again our mad alarms. 

Lull monster faction with thy potent charms, 

And grant to him, whoe'er ascends thy seat. 

Worth half like thine, and virtues half as great 

February 21', 1801. 



25 
Mrs. WEBSTER TO Mr. WEBSTER. 

Saturday Morning, Jan. 22, 1825. 

My dEAR Husband, — I was sitting alone in my chamber reflect- 
ing on the brief life of our sainted little boy, when your letter came, 
enclosing those lines of yours, which to a " mother's eye" are pre- 
cious. O my husband, have not some of our brightest hopes per- 
ished ! "Our fairest flowers are, indeed, blossoms gathered for the 
tomb." But do not, my dear husband, do not let these afflictions 
weigh too heavily upon you : those dear children, who had such strong 
holds on us while here, now allure us to Heaven. 

"On us with looks of love they bead. 
For us the Lord of life implore, 
And oft from sainted bliss descend, 
Our wounded spirits to restore." 

Farewell, my beloved husband. I have not time to write more, 
only to say I regret you have lost the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Tick- 
nor's society, which you so much need. I fear Mrs. Dwight is not 
much benefited by her voyage, so the last accounts appear; though at 
first they thought her better. 

The children are tolerably well, though not free from colds. 

Your ever affectionate G. W. 

LINES ON THE DEATH OF HIS SON CHARLES, BY MR. WEBSTER. 

My son, thou wast my heart's delight, 
Thy morn of life was gay and cheery ; 
That morn has rushed to sudden night, 
Thy father's house is sad and dreary. 

I held thee on my knee, my son, 

And kissed thee laughing, kissed thee weeping ; 

But, ah ! thy litile day is done, 

Thou'rt with thy angel sister sleeping. 

The staff, on which my years should lean, 
Is broken, ere those years come o'er me ; 
My funeral rites thou shoulds't have seen, 
But thou art in the tomb before me. 

Thou rear'st to me no filial stone. 

No parent's grave with tears behoidest ; 

Thou art my ancestor, my son. 

And stand'st in Heaven's account the oldest. 



On earth my lot was soonest cast, 
Thy generation after mine ; 
Thou hast thy predecessor passed, 
Earlier eternity is thine. 



26 



I should have set before thine eyes 
The road to Heaven, and shown it clear ; 
But thou untaught springs't to the skies, 
And leav'st thy teacher lingering here. 

Sweet seraph, I would learn of thee, 
And hasten to partake thy bliss ; 
And, oh ! to thy world welcome me, 
As first I welcomed thee to this. 

Dear angel, thou art safe in Heaven ; 
No prayers for thee need more be made ; 
Oh ! let thy prayers for those be given 
Who oft have blessed thy infant head. 

My father, I beheld thee born, 
And led thy tottering steps u'ith care ; 
Before me risen to Heaven's bright morn. 
My son, my father, guide me there. 



A PEN-PICTURE OF FRYEBURG. 



FROM " A MODERN INSTANCE," BY W. D. HOWELLS. 



The village stood on a wide plain, and around it rose the moun- 
tains. They were green to their tops in summer, and in winter white 
through their serried pines and drifting mists ; but at every season 
serious and beautiful, furrowed with hollow shadows, and taking the 
light on masses and stretches of iron-gray crag. The river swam 
through the plain in long curves, and slipped away at last through an 
unseen pass to the southward, tracing a score of miles in its course 
over a space that measured but three or four. The plain was very 
fertile, and its features, if few and of purely utilitarian beauty, had a 
rich luxuriance, and there was a tropical riot of vegetation when the 
sun of July beat on those northern fields. They waved with corn and 
■oats to the feet of the mountains, and the potatoes covered a vast 
acreage with the lines of their intense, coarse green. The meadows 
were deep with English grass to the banks of the river, that, doubling 
and returning upon itself, still marked its way with a dense fringe of 
alders and white-birches. 

Behind the black boles of the elms that swept the vista of the 
street with the fine gray tracery of their boughs, stood the houses, 
deep-sunken in the accumulating drifts, through which each house- 
holder kept a path cut from his doorway to the road, white and clean 
as if hewn out of marble. Some cross-streets straggled away east and 
west with the poorer dwellings ; but this, that followed the northward 
and southward reach of the plain, was the main thoroughfare, and had 



o ^ 
o 2 



O O 



r 
> 

D 

CO 



^ 



< 

t— ( 

r 
r 
> 

Q 




27 

Its own impressiveness, with those square white houses which they build 
so large in northern New England. They were all kept in scrupulous 
repair, though here and there the frost and thaw of many winters had 
heaved a fence out of plumb, and threatened the poise of the monu- 
mental urns of painted pine on gate-posts. They had dark-green 
blinds, of a color harmonious with that of the funereal evergreens in 
their door-yards ; and they themselves had taken the tone of the 
snowy landscape, as if by the operation of some such law as blanches 
the fur-bearing animals of the North. They seemed proper to its 
desolation, while some houses of more modern taste, painted to a 
warmer tone, looked, with their mansard roofs and jig-sawed piazzas 
and balconies, intrusive and alien. 

At one end of the street stood the Academy, with its classic 
facade and its belfry; midway was the hotel, with the stores, the 
printing office and the churches ; and, at the other extreme, one of the 
square white mansions stood advanced from the rank of the rest, at 
the top of a deep-plunging valley, defining itself against the mountain 
beyond so sharply that it seemed as if cut out of its dark-wooded 
side. It was from the gate before this house, distinct in the pink 
light which the sunset had left, that, on a Saturday evening in Feb- 
ruary, a cutter, gay with red-lined robes, dashed away, and came 
musically dashing down the street under the naked elms. 



George Barstow, in his History of New Plampshire, thus describes the 
locality of Lovewell's Fight and the present aspect of the beautiful valley 
in which Fryeburg is situate : — 

" The waters of the pond are encircled by a wide, sandy beach, 
which rises with a gentle slope ; and is bordered with a growth of pines, 
which surround it like a belt. Loon Island rises like a green speck 
near the centre, and, at a little distance from this, is Pine Island, 
crowned with trees. The Saco sweeps within twenty rods of the 
pond, as if coming to receive the waters which flow into it, through a 
narrow channel. The village of Fryeburg stands on a level plain, 
elevated a few feet above the broad intervales of the Saco. In the 
midst of this plain rises a stupendous rock 200 feet high, its top 
capped with small pines, its sides clad in dark-brown moss. When 
standing under its cliflfs, man appears to be an insignificant object. 
It rises, like an observatory, in the midst of the unrivalled charms of a 
landscape over which the eye ranges for miles. From the south 
comes the Saco, flowing in graceful meanderings, its banks fringed 
with the various trees that adorn the meadows, and loses itself at last 
towards the north, amidst the hills which range themselves on either 
side. Northward are the Pequawket Mountains, and westward is 
Chocorua Peak, the monarch of the Sandwich range, — all together 
forming a semi-circular group of mountains of surpassing grandeur. 
Anciently, within this township, scarce six miles in extent, the wind- 
ing course measured thirty-four miles in length. The frightful freshets 



28 

of the river often compelled the inhabitants to retreat with their 
fiocks and herds to the highlands. They have now, by a canal 
running across the narrowest neck of the land, led the river from 
its bed, and dried it up for a distance of thirty miles. In early 
times the Pequawket Indians could float with their canoes, by 
making the circuit of Lovewell's Pond near the shores, and pass- 
ing through its outlet into the Saco, for more than 100 miles, 
all within the township of Fryeburg. The features of this valley 
are hardly equalled in New England. From an observatory erected 
by the hand of nature, the eye of the beholder ranges from Love- 
well's Pond, on the southeast, eastward over an almost unbroken 
forest, until the view is bounded by Pleasant Mountain. He sees, 
almost at a glance, the silver thread of the Saco winding in the 
distance ; the bright waters of the pond, and the plains and the 
meadows ; the clouds resting on the summits of the mountains, or 
hanging wreathed around their rugged sides, sometimes illumined 
by the sun's rays like fluid gold, sometimes kindling with the first 
fires of the morning. Never did nobler mountains fling their broad 
shadows at sunset over more beautiful plains than those which sur- 
round the village of Fryeburg. Nor is it the least interesting of the 
traveller's reflections, while gazing here, that he treads upon the 
favorite hunting-grounds of the once formidable Pequawkets." 



We. Lave the pleasure of presenting to the public, in this local hroclune, not only the 
long-lost oration of Webster, but a newly discovered poem of the late Henry W. Longfellow 
(which the poet himself long sought for, but in vain), it being the first poem Mr. Longfellow 
gave to the world with his name attached, nearly sixty years ago. As will be seen, the poem 
has a local interest, having been written for and sung (to the air of lirtice's Address) at the 
Centennial Celebration of Lovewell's Fight, May 19, 1S25. Mr. Longfellow was himself pres- 
ent at the celebration, attending a social levee at Judge Dana's and the ball in the evening 
at the Oxford House. 

LOVEWELL'S FIGHT. 



Many a day and wasted year. 
Bright has left its footsteps here 
Since was broke the warrior's spear, 

And our fathers bled ; 
Still the tall trees arching shake, 
W here the fleet deer by the lake, 
As he dashed through bush and brake, 

From the hunter fled. 

In these ancient woods so bright. 
That are full of life and light, 
Many a dark, mysterious rite 

The stern warriors kept; 
But their altars are bereft, 
Fall'n to earth and strewn and cleft, 
And to holier faith is left 

Where their fathers slept. 



29 



From their ancient sepulchres, 
Where, amid the giant firs, 
Moaning loud the high wind stirs. 

Have the red men gone. 
Tow'rds the setting sun that makes 
Bright our western hills and lakes. 
Faint and few the remnant takes 

Its sad iourney on. 

Where the Indian hamlet stood, 
In the interminable wood, 
Battle broke the solitude. 

And the war-cry i-ose ; 
Sudden came the straggling shot 
Where the sun looked on the spot 
That the trace of war would blot 

Ere the day's faint close. 

Low the smoke of battle hung, 
Heav}' down the lake it swung. 
Till the death-wail loud was sung, 

Wh^n'the night-shades fell; 
And the green pine, waving dark. 
Held within its shattered bark 
Many a lasting scath and mark 

That a tale could tell. 

And the glory of that day 
Shall not pass from earth away, 
Nor the blighting of decay 

Waste our libeity ; 
But, within the river's sweep, 
Long in peace our vale shall sleep, 
And free hearts the record keep 

Of this Jubilee. 



The poet Whittier has visited Fryeburg several times. Last year he spent a PO»-"o" "^ "»« 
«„mmer here a«i haviug been invited to write his autograph in a friend's album, he did 80, 
TorpaSi it -^^^^ fo»--^ 1^"- ^^-'^"l^*^^^ °* "" ^'""' mountams that he about 
and overloolv our lieautiful town :— 

O Mountains of the North, unveil 

Your brows, and lay your cloudy mantles by ! 
And once more, ere the eyes that seek ye fail, 

Uplift against the blue walls of the sky 
Your mighty shapes, and let the sunshine weave 
' Its golden network in your belting woods ; 

Smile down in rainbows from your falling floods, 
And on your kingly brows at morn and eve 
Set crowns of fire ! So shall my soul receive, 

llaply, the secret of your calm and strength ; 
Your unforgotten beauty interfuse 
My common life; your glorious shapes and hues 

And sun-clothed splendors at my bidding come, 
Loom vast through dreams, and stretch in billowy length 
From the sea-level of my lowland home ! 



30 



EXTRACT FROM 

"THE VILLAGE." 

The volume containing this poem, witli a copious appendix, was written in 1816, liy Enoch 
Lincoln, a resident of Fryel)urg and a man of varied talents and genius. The volume is now 
out of print and very rare. Its author afterwards became a Member of Congress and the 
third Governor of iVIaiue. 

Shallow and deep hy turns, and swift and slow, 
There I behold the winding Saco flow. 
In earlv spring, when showers increase its tides, 
And melted snows pour down the mountains' sides, ' 
I've seen it, raging, boisterous, and deep, 
O'erflow its banks and through the upland sweep. 
The farmer's hopes, the lumberer's hard-earned thrift, 
Logs, bridges, bootns, and boats were all adrift; 
Trees, fences, fields, whate'er opposed its course. 
Were torn and scattered by th' o'erwhehning force. 
Loosed from the fold to crop the tender feed. 
The hungry flock were grazing on the mead. 
Their saving Ararat, a trifling mound, 
Secured them from the deluge spreading round, 
Till, taught no more to let the stragglers roam, 
' The careless shepherd bore them to their home; 
And then, from spouting clouds no longer fed. 
Our little Nile returned within its bed. 

Along its borders, spreading far and wide. 

The tall, straight pines appear on every side. 

To these thick woods the hardy laborer goes, 

And rears his sheltering tent amid the snows, 

His couch the hemlock's twigs, his household ware 

A jug and basket filled with simplest fare. 

Ye who indulge in indolence and ease, 

Whom spleen invades and moody vapors seize, 

To whom each day an age of trouble seems. 

Whose nights are wakeful or disturbed by dreams. 

Observe the happy quiet of his rest. 

And learn, like him, by labor to be blessed. 

Ye bloated epicures, diseases' prey, 

Who waste in vile excess your lives away. 

Observe his frugal board, be wise at length, 

And gain like him, from temperance, health and strength. 



LOVEWELL'S FIGHT. 



BY PROF. THOS. C. UPHAM. 



Ah ! where are the soldiers that fought here of yore? 
The sod is upon them, they'll struggle no more ; 
The hatchet is fallen, the red man is low, 
But near him reposes the arm of his foe. 

The bugle is silent, the war-whoop is dead. 

There's a murmur of waters and woods in their stead; 

And the raven and owl chant a syphony drear 

From the dark waving pines o'er the combatants' bier. 




^-^— ^^^rlic OLd F'^YtBLlR^G-'i^C>\DtiyfY^l=^^^C!^:^^ 



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31 

The light of the sun has just sunk in the wave. 
And a long time ago set the sun of the brave. 
The waters complain, as they roll o'er the stones, 
And the rank grass encircles a few scattered bones. 

The names of the fallen the traveller leaves 

Cut out with his knife in the bark of the trees ; 

But little avail his aftectionate arts, 

For the names of the fallen are graved in our hearts. 

The voice of the hunter is loud on the breeze. 
There's a dashing of waters, a rustling of trees; 
But the jangling of armor hath all passed away, 
No gushing of life-blood is here seen to-daj. 

The eye that was sparkling, no longer is bright, 
The arm of the mighty, death conquered its might; 
The bosoms that once for their country beat high. 
To those bosoms the sods of the valley are nigh. 

Sleep, soldiers of merit ! sleep, gallant of yore ! 
The hatchet is fallen, the struggle is o'er; 
While the fir-tree is green and the wind rolls a wave, 
The tear-drop shall brighten the turf of the brave. 

Extract from a poem on " >Iemory," by Rev. Samuel Souther, delivered at the Semi- 
Centennial of Fryeburg Academy, August 17, 1842. 

The valley in its unshorn glory spread 
Far. far beneath them, while the Saco led 
Its mazy wanderings, onward now. now turnmg 
Like some coquettish maiden, archly spurning 
And then anon encouraging again 
The awkward suit of some poor, blushing swain. 
Around, the hills, in the warm sunlight gleaming, 
Towered high and higher still, their huge flanks seeming 
An amphitheatre too vast and holy 
For mortal conclave. Heaven its canopy. 
Perchance 'twas early autumn, and the leaves 
Were tinged with dyes no mortal power conceives; 
Onethen°might fancy, that, in gorgeous robes, 
The sylvan gods had'made those hillsides their abodes,— 
One forest all unbroke, save where the sight 
Fell on Chocorua's crags or Kearsarge height, 
Or where the silver lakelets gleamed in summer sheen. 
Or dewy meadows glist'ned in robes of living green. 
Not few can doubtless well remember when 
The school first met, though fifty. years since then 
Whiten their locks, upon their cheeks, then glowing 
With ruddy youth, time's wrinkles thickly strewing. 
With theni let's turn our eyes, and, if we can. 
Recall appearances when first the school began. 
Tradition keeps a first-rate glass, and, with your approbation. 
We through that glass will take one peep, the glass imagination. 
The humble building stands near yonder hill, 
Whose pines above, around, the prospect fill; 
And can that edifice, so humble, be 
The starting point of our Academy? 
[Then, after speaking of Paul Langdon, who was the fii-st Preceptor, the Poet adds :] 



32 



Turn round the glass : another teacher now, 
Far younger, fills the chair. Ah ! mark that brow, 
That eagle eye : have you not seen it flash 
In scenes of later life, when, 'mid the clash 
Of strong and high debate, it struck his foe 
With sudden fear? then, indeed, you know 
Ihat this is Webster, still unknown to fame, 
In the early dawn of his illustrious name. 



FRYEBURG. 



Quid debeas, O Roma, Neronibus 
Testis Metaurum fluinen et Hasdrubal 
Devictus. 

No vale with purer peace the spirit fills 

Than thine, Fryeburg the fair, Fryeburg the free. 

Dear are thy men and maidens unto me ; 
Holy the smokeless altars of thy hills ; 

Sacred thy wide, moist meadows, where the morn 

Delays for very love; divinely born 
Those drooping tresses of tliy feathery elms, 

That lisp of cool delight through dreams of noon; 

Gentle tliy Saco's tides, tliat creep and croon. 
Lapsing and lingering through hushed forest-realms, 

Which love the song-bird's boon. 

But neither vale nor hill nor field nor tree 

Nor stream nor forest had this day been ours. 

Nor would sweet English speech in Fryeburg's bowers 
This night be heard across her lake and lea,— 

Our seamless flag had been in pieces riven. 

Nor had we been, beneath its blue, starred heaven, 
A nation one and indivisible, — 

Had not two spirits come to range and reign 

Here over sand-girt Saco's green domain, 
The one with sword, the other with tongue and quill, — 

Webster and Chamberlain. 

Two crowns of glory clasp thy calm, chaste brow. 

O ye strong hills, bear witness to my verse. 

Thou " Maledetto," mountain of the curse, * 
Chocorua. blasted by thy chief, and thou 

Kearsarge, slope-shouldered monarch of this vale, 

Who gav'st th}' conquering name to that swift sail 
Whjch caught in Gallic seas the rebel bark 

And downward drove the Aldbamas pride 

To deep sea-sleep in Cherbourg's ravening tide. 
What lime faint Commerce watched our nation's ark 

Sinking with shattered side. 

Speak, ye historian pine-woods, where ye stand. 

And thou bald scalp, like the bald crown of Time, f 
Lifted above thy sylvan sea sublime, 
* And ye still shores, reaches of golden sand, 

* Mt. Maledetto, in the Pyrenees, is entirely bare of vegetation, the supposed result of a 
malediction like that pronounced by Chocorua. 

t Equestrian fancy culls the scalp-like rock overhanging the lake, "Jockey Cap." 



33 

Linked like a necklace round voiir Lovell's lake, 
Speak, for ye saw how, when the morning brake, 

Brave Chamberlain, and men like Chamberlain, 

Turned like caged lions, where round them in fell scorn 
Leaped from their lairs the thousand forest-born, 

And fought, death-loving, grand in life's disdain, 

^ Till eve's first star was born. 

Then fell the peerless, fearless, cheerless chief, 

Paugus, between this water and that wi>od. 

Staining the yellow strand with Indian blcod, 
Death struck by Chamberlain ; and straight in grief 

The Indian vanished, and the English came 

And laid on this lone mere their I^iovell s name, 
Love II who led them : thus the northern land 

From Kearsarge to Katahdiii, and the State 

Named from the Pine, lay open as a gate 
For Saxon steps to reach St. Lawrence strand, 

Clear of wild war's d<rbate. 

A century, Haifa hundred years, and seven. 

Each like a pilgrim from eternity 

With sandals of soft silence creeping by. 
Have paced thy streets, and hied them home to Heaven, 

Sweet Fryeburg, since thy Lovell's batile-day 

Wove the pine-wreath which welcomes no decay; 
But grandsire Time, who crowns men with both hands, 

Giving to him that hath, decreed that thou. 

Ere seventy years, should bind about thy brow 
A second wreath, culled from thy meadow-lands 

And the elm's peaceful bough 

Then Judgment rose on swift, storm-shadowed wings, * 
And pitying Man, heart-sick with vain desire. 
Sent the new Gods, mist-robed and crowned with fire, 

To trace with flame-like hands the doom of kings. 

Through the drowsed earth, like throb of morning drum, 
Pealed the fierce shout, — the new Gods' reign is come; 

And new-risen stars, ablaze round Man's new bride, 
(^ame down to sing at F^reedom's inarriage feast, 
When through the listening lands of West and East 

A Daniel rose for judgment on each side 
Where the Atlantic ceased. 

Twentv rich simimers glowed along his veins 

When from New Hampshire's high-born hills a youth 

Came down a seeker and a sayer of sooth. 
To stand beneath these elms, and shake the reins 

That shape the heart of boyhood s fiery prime. 

They called him Daniel Webster; and the chime 
Measured the sliding hours with smooth, slow stroke, 

While he sat registering the deed, and wrought 

As though the wide world watched him : swift in thought, 
But slow in speech ; yet once, when once he spoke, 

Then an archangel taught. 

* In 1800, while the bells of St. Patrick's Catliedral were ringino: triumphantly over the 
downfall of the old Ivish rarliament, youujr Daniel O'Connell rose in the Corn Exchange, 
Dublin, and delivered hia maiden sjieech. In 1802. young Daniel Webster spoke for the tirst 
time, and in the spirit of the young; Irish agitator's life-long republican and revolutionary 
principles. 



34 

'Twas Magna Charta's morning in ]u]y 

When, in that temple reared of oM to Truth, 

He rose in the bronze bloom of blood bright jouth, 

To speak what he re-spoke when death wa« niah. * 
Strongly he stood, Olympian-framed with front 
Ivike some carved crag where sleeps the lightning's brui't, 

Black, thunderous brows, and thunderous deep-toned speech. 
Like Ptricles. of whom the people said. 
That, when he spake, it thundered; round him spread 

The calm of summer nights when the stars teach 
In music overhead. 

Lifr up thy head, behold thy citizen, 

O Fryeburg! From thy cloistered shades came he, — 
Who came like many more who tome from thee,-^ 

To show the cities how the hills make men. 
Guard long thy unabdicated pastoral throne, 
God kept within thy God-made mountam-zone, 

Of Truth, of Love of Hope, the worshipper; 
Keep fresh thy double garland and hand down 
This my last leaf woven in thy Webster's crown, 

And leave each leprous, loaihed, unkennelled cur 
To bark at his renown. 

H. Bernard Carpenter. 
June 2.3, 1882. 

• AVelister, in his Last Speech in the Senate, repeated the peroration of his Fryeburg 
upeech; an example of the law which has led many other supreme artists to work over and en- 
large tlie lines of their life's tirst efEorts. • 



MASS AND MIND. 



From crj'stal Saco's winding marge 

Of meads, fair-fringed with bosky green, 

Ye rise, Chocorua and Kearsarge, 
Grim warders of the lovely scene. 

Rock-based, rock-built, so broad and deep, 
Ye well may scorn all fati^ful torce 

Save that whose cosmic nuight can swpep 
The planets from their rolling course. 

Thus shall ye stand unmoved through all 
The sequent years, as those of yore; 

Till time's last lingering sand shall fall, 
And end the unimagined score. 

Yet. from the hour that score began, 
Hight on and down through every age, 

What loving deed of good to man 

Shall grace your annals' noblest page ? 

Cold, heartless, in your granite mail, 
No ears to hear, no eyes to see, — 

What cry of human joy or wail 
Can pierce your story apathy ? 



35 



Suns rise and set. moons wax and wane, 
Life's flux and reflux come and go; 

But ve immutable remain 

Through all their endless ebb and flow. 

And. tlioush ye seem to prop the skies, 
Impiessive a< your forms may be, 

Ye do but grimly symbolize 
Mere passive perpetuity. 

Not such the wondrous youth, unspoiled 
By conscious power of pen and tongue, 

Who here with patient genius toiled 
When these majestic elms were young. 

Of eagle glance and podlike brow, 
He moved with such prophetic air 

That eyes which see beyond the Now 
Saw then his country's Avatar. 

O Titans, void of heart and mind. 

Mere senseless bulk of breadth and height, 

Had not vour grandeur been stone blind, 
Ye must have cowered before his sight! 

To him there seemed no dim nor dark, 
No mvsteries in time nor change; 

The farthest star was ample niaik 

Within his thought's unbounded range. 

And myriad suns and spheres combined. 
With all their blaze of blended light. 

Compared with that immortal mind 
Were but as motes that mock the sight. 



June, 1882. 



W. P. Palmer. 



GREETING. 



O mountains! back to your grand fastnesses, 

As once our fathers, so we turn to day ; 
Alone unchanged, your mighty brotherhood 

Watches the seneratioris puss away; 
Yet, all untroubled, in your purple state, 
Ye hold your watch toward the sunset-gate! 

Still in your loyal arms ye clasp the valley, 

And hear the song ihe murmuring Saco sings; 

Still to the hurtling stoims ye bare your helmets. 
Dashing the hail their scurrying legion flings. 

Calm in vour shadow rest our dear departed; 

Sleep sweet, O tender, strong, and loyal-hearted ! 

Yet, while the summer air gives back no token, 
No whi>per from their lips who once walked here, 

They live, immortal! though your crests, O mountains, 
Topple to chaos, and earth disappear : 

Beyond the touch of Time's destroying finger, ^ 

Round these dear scenes thtir blessed spirits Unger . 



36 



All ! could we see them, how this quiet village 

Were thronged with guests who know and love it well, 

Treading its shaded strt-ets with noiseless footfall. 

Passing through doorways where the townsfolk dwell. 

Might we not mark them, earnest eyed and tender. 
And smile back all the love our hearts would render? 

O company of the beloved and the departed, 

Shades of the great, who once looked forth, as we, 

Upon the majesty of cloud and mountain. 
And the fair river gliding to the sea! 

Faint though the type, doth not the vision stand, 

Earnest of glory in our Fatherland? 

Hasten, O day of glorious, blest reunion ! 

And, till thou dawn, oh ! be it ours to make 
Our daily, common living full and gracious 

With highest service done for His dear sake: 
So shall we, walking in the Master's spirit, 
Share in His love, which ''all things" doth "inherit." 

Rebecca Perley Reeb. 
May, 1882. 



TRIBUTE 

TO FRYEBUKG AND WEBSTER. 



In threefold sort hath Heaven its bounty poured 
On thee, Dame Fryeburg, sitting 'mid ihy hills; 
For thou hast beauty such as stirs and thrills 
The heart of Nature's lover; thou hast hoard 
Of frugal competence and plenty stored 

Within thy barns and fields; and, still the best. 
As e'er by mothers' souls must be confessed, 
Brave sons, fair daughters, roimd thine ample board. 
But some have left thy hearthstone, far to roam ; . 
And some lie in thy church-yards, near at hand. 
Here where thou smiJedst on their infancy; 
And some there be who left thy rural home. 
And fell in battle for their native land — 
Their graves known unto God, but not to thee ! 

Not thine the glitter of metropolis. 

Which oft th" unwary lureth unto death; 

Not thine the lordly city's fevered breath, 
In clutching after gold ; and thou didst miss 
Of that, thine elder German cousin's bliss, 

To bear a son who named a continent. ■" 

Thy matron modesty rests well content 
With claims less brilliant for our homage-kiss, 

With less pretentious titles to our love. 
Thy simple duty, not the praise of men, 

Before thine own and children's eyes was set; 

* It is stated by historians, with more or less qualification of late, that a geographer of 
Freiburg, Germany, tirst — in 1507 — designated the New World on his map as "Americi 
Terra," whence "America." 



37 



Not half this world, but all of that above, 

Thine oftspring thou didst ever urge to win, 
Where planets are but dust, which we forget! 

One glory else thou hast. Here Webster came 
Among thv shadv lanes, and here he taught; 
To thee first service of his manhood brought, 
Ere wider fields his giant strength did claim. 
His noble life adds lustre to thv name. 

As snow on Kearsarge heights, borne from afar, 
Adds splendor to that crest, or as yon star 
Lends grace to earth, its orbit not the same. 
Yet, as that white-capt mount in but degree. 
And not in kind, is worthier than those hills 
Set thick about; and, even as that sun 
Is one of myriads in immensity. 

All equal in His sight who shapes and wills; 
So each of lesser men God counts as one. 

Memorial Day, 1882. 



JOHN S. COLBY. 



WEBSTER. 



Long years upon this valley fair 

Have added dust to dust 
Since W^BSTER breathed its mountain air, — 

A youth high- browed and just. 

Ofttimes along the Saco's stream 

He, musing, loved to stray, 
And mark the daylight's westering beam, 

The hills slow fade away. 

What mystic .«pell, O circling hills, 

O groves of needled pine, 
O river glad with laughing rills. 

Fell on his speech divine, 

That, on the battlefields of life, 

Where men brave, gifted, great. 
Met in the front ranks of the strife, 

His words rang out as fate! 

Before that noble, kingly soul 

A nation bows in pride, 
And years will hallow, as they roll, 

The day that Webster died. 

And History, with her iron pen. 

Will write, with soletnn care. 
As mighliest of our mighty men. 

The name of Webster there ! 

Fryeburg, May 31, 1882. • E. S. Osgood. 



38 

LOVEVVELL'S POND. 



" More deeply dyed with tradition than any other body of water in New England.' 
Thos. Star)- King. 

Sunbeams brightly shed their lustre 

O'er thy waters clear expanse, 
Holding every passing cloudlet 

In a loving, magic trance. 
Pine trees softly chant a requiem 

O'er this old, historic ground ; 
Wild flowers, with their perfumed petals, 

Mantle mtny a moss-grown mound. 

Here, beside this gem of waters, 

Raged the fiercest, deadliest strife 
That was ever stirred by war-whoop 

Or the tones of drum or fife. 
Close beside yon leafy covert — 

Hark! the sound of (ne loud gun; 
All ! tlie ranger's aim was deadly, 

Paugus" battles all are done. 

' Crimsoned once thou wast by life-blood. 

Marred I'y war's grim, ghastly fray; 
Now thy waves are clear as crystal, 

Evf^ry stain is "washed away." 
And those grand old mountain turrets. 

Darkly outlined 'gainst the sky, 
Seem like mighty, massive towers 

Keeping •watch and waW on high. 

Lightnings flash and dart about them, 

Thunders mutter lorig and deep. 
Till we almost fancy giants 

Hound tlieir ciags play hide and seek. 
But their walls are firmly builded. 

From granite base to storm-scarred dome, 
And ihey seem, in strength and beauty, 

Fitting stairways to God's throne. 

Yellow-sanded, rich-hued Saco 

Hippies soft through maple shade, 
fetately elm-trees gothic arches 

Make o'er emerald glen and glade. 
Many aie the lovely hamlets 

Bordered wide by hill and farm, 
Yet to Fryeburg's sweet seclusion 

Rightfully belongs the palm. 

Here was once the Home of Webster, 

One whose gigaritic mind and mold 
Seemed a storehouse vast of knowledge 

Of greater worth than finest gold; 
And this old brick hall of learning 

Immortal is from many a name 
That has left, to all, incentives 

Upward, on, to woith and fame. 




Ff\yebui\g Academy. 



39 



Here, amidst these scenes of beautj, 

Whittier's soul-inspiring lay 
Must renew its old-time music, 

With the "White Hills" far away, 
Draped in robes of sheeny whiteness 

Blending with such heavenly blue 
That it seems celestial radiance 

Through each cloud-rift bursts in view. 

I must now, of lake and mountain, 

Take a last and loving look, — 
Bald, gray Jockey Cap majestic. 

Every rippling, babbling brook. 
All ye memories, dear and precious, 

In my heart will ever lie 
Kntwined in Avreaths of ''everlasting" 

That can never fade or die. 

June, 1882. A. Zilphi Plummkr. 




